


The Worst Date Ever

by MotherofBulls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Co-workers, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherofBulls/pseuds/MotherofBulls
Summary: Hermione loses a bet to Draco and now has to let him take her on "the worst date in the history of the world." His words. Hermione is in for a night full of crappy pub food, a rented children's choir, and casual violence. But at some point in this rubbish heap of an evening, Hermione finds that there's more to Draco than she thought.Runner Up for 2018 Beyond the Nook Fanfiction Awards, Best Comedy (Dramione subcategory)





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired by an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine where Jake does the same to Amy. A huge thank you to Strictly Dramione for hosting this Prank Fest to give me an excuse to bring this idea to fruition. 
> 
> Another huge thank you to SaintDionysus for betaing this piece and creating the most amazing artwork!
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

Hermione sneered at the unwelcome blond presence who stood in the doorway of her office, grinning like an idiot. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“It’s the 31st. You know what _that_ means?”

She groaned. How the hell had she ever allowed herself to be talked into this stupid bet?

It started the night Harry insisted the entire office go out on Valentine’s Day to celebrate the fact that they were all “lonely, toxically work-obsessed adults who were still surprisingly single on the most romantic day of the year.” His words. The fucker.

It was around tequila shot Numero Quatro that everything went tits up.

_“You know what, Granger?” Malfoy drunkenly slurred as he slung his arm around her shoulders._

_“Don’t touch me.”_

_He gingerly removed the appendage from her person. “You would be SO. MUCH. HOTTER. If you would just lighten up every now and then.”_

_Another tequila shot. “Maybe I don’t care if you think I’m hot. Y’ever think of that, Malfoy?”_

_He booped her nose. “Even when you’re slushed…shlooshed…sl-o-sh-ed. Even when you’re sproshed, you’re kind of a bitch.”_

_She covered his face with her palm. It was not entirely clear what she was going for, but Dutch wisdom can never truly be questioned. “I am NOT. A bitch.” Hiccup. “You’re a little prat. A littlllle…pratty little ferret thing. A sssstupid face. A stupid ferret with a stupid blond face and a ferrety head.”_

_He laughed. “You’re drunk.”_

_“_ _YOU’RE drunk.” She was oh, so very drunk._

_“Yup.” Hiccup. “And I’m a better Auror than you.”_

_“ARE NOT!” Drunk Hermione was an exclaimer._

_“Wanna test it?”_

_“HOW?” A_ loud _exclaimer._

_Drunk Draco didn’t seem to notice or care. “A bet. Whoever closes the most cases in March wins.”_

_She winked. Or closed both eyes and squeezed, but hey, whatever. Drunk Hermione did not have the best command of her facial muscles. She clicked her tongue and shot a finger pistol at him. “You’re on, Malfoy.”_

Arsehole.

He chuckled at her discomfort. She dearly wanted to pop him. What possible right did he have looking so comfortable in her office? “You remember our terms, Granger?”

She grumbled. Yeah. She fucking remembered. If she won, he had to do all her paperwork for the next two months. But if _he_ won, she had to go on a date with him.

Scratch that.

She had to go on the _worst date ever_ with him. His words.

The fucker.

As of yesterday, she was ahead. But she could barely find the will to be smug about it when he stood there, eyes twinkling, like he had some great secret she didn’t know about. “Of course, I remember, Malfoy. But unless you can close two more cases by the end of the day, I believe I win.”

His grin spread menacingly across his face. Like a pox. _Shit-fuck. What did he do?_

“I knew you would be keeping track, Granger. But perhaps my math is off, you know, seeing as I’m an inferior being compared to Her Royal Swotness, Hermione Granger—”

“Get to the _point_ , Malfoy.”

“—but I seemed to have happened on a bit of _luck_ today. If you would be so kind as to remove your smart little arse from that chair and peek over to the interrogation chamber?”

Hermione wanted to shank him with her letter opener. But alas. The paperwork.

She did as he bade and stifled a gasp. “Is that…?”

“Margolis Ionesco, the French-Canadian Squib who’s wanted by both MI-6 _and_ our Department for smuggling an estimated 20,000 kilos of heroin into the United Kingdom?”

“Y-yes.”

“If you would direct your attention to the gentleman sitting next to him, you will see—”

“—Mikhail Dubrovkavich. Russian arsonist who blew up a Muggle pre-school.”

“ _Correct-o-mundo!_ Her Royal Swotness strikes again! I believe that makes us tied, wouldn’t you say, Granger?”

She cleared her throat. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, _you_ don’t win either, which means that I don’t have to go on a weird, awful date with you.”

“Yes. That _is_ fortunate for you.” He gasped. “But wait. Is that…? No. It couldn’t be.”

Hermione followed his eyes’ line of sight. “What…oh, _shit!_ ”

Handcuffed to Harry’s desk, currently having her fingerprints magically extracted from her, was Maria Puccini, the infamous Italian assassin the Department had nicknamed, The Rouge Ripper, as her modus operandi was painting her victims’ lips with red lipstick after she killed them.

Hermione’s jaw fell on the floor.

Draco made absolutely no attempt to hide his glee at her defeat as he nudged her arm, nearly knocking her over. “I can see your arithmetic is better than your detective work. I do believe that makes _me_ the victor of this little game of ours.”

“How…h-how…?”

“So, should I pick you up at 7, or would you prefer—”

She rounded on him. “You listen here, blondie! I will _not_ be going on a date with you.”

Draco pouted sympathetically. “I’m afraid that’s not how bets work, Granger. Who would have thought Her Royal Swotness didn’t have a basic grasp of the importance that _rules_ play in our society? Why, they’re the very cornerstone—”

“You _cheated!_ ”

He sniggered. “Yeah, no. I didn’t.”

“I don’t know how you did this, but—”

“I was already pretty close to solving these last three cases. All I needed was a little nudge. So, I bought a vial of _Felix Felcis_ and took it this morning with my breakfast. And I have to say. It did add the most _delightful_ little zip to my morning pumpkin juice.”

Hermione dug her nails deep into the palms of her hands to keep herself from striking him. “You _cheated!_ ”

“Nah-ah, Granger. I did not cheat. We never stipulated that neither of us could use a little bit of help. What I did was no different than relying on an informant or setting up surveillance—”

“ _Felix Felicis_ is illegal in all sporting events. This was a game. You cheated. You lose. End of story.”

“ _Felix Felicis_ is illegal only in _regulated competitions_ , Granger. You and I might be Ministry employees, but that doesn’t make this a government matter. I won. Fair and square.” He paused for a beat. “Okay, maybe not exactly square, but I did _not_ cheat. And you know what that means?”

Hermione whined and bounced in place. “Please don’t.”

Draco ignored her. “You have to go on a date with me.” He cleared his throat. “EXCUSE ME, can I have everyone’s attention?”

The office stilled and turned to face Draco and Hermione.

He grinned. “As you all know, Granger and I have had a bet going on for the past month. And I am pleased to announce that because of our efforts, this Department has had a record-setting quarter for arrests.” He began clapping, and the entire office joined in.

Hermione seethed next to him, _not_ clapping. Although it _was_ interesting about the record. She didn’t realize their little row would render such favorable results for the Department.

Draco motioned for the room to be silent. “This month has now come to a close, and the results are in. And it is my pleasure to announce that I, Draco Malfoy, the superior Auror, have emerged victorious.” He began clapping again, but this time no one joined in.

Draco motioned at Maria Puccini. “Couldn’t have done it without you, doll.”

She slipped him the finger, vividly imagining how he would look in red lipstick.

He ignored her. “But enough about me. Now it’s time for Granger to pay up.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the tackiest, gaudiest ring Hermione had ever seen. It was covered in waxy, poison-colored gems that were undoubtedly not only fake, but of negligible value. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d stolen it from a maiden aunt’s heirloom drawer.

Little did she know, it was actually an arcade vending machine.

He got down on one knee. She groaned, rolling her eyes. He looked up at her, eyes shining with mirth as he took her hand. “Hermione Granger. Will you do me the honor of going with me on the worst date in the history of the world? You _have_ to say yes.”

She glared at him for several seconds before muttering with closed lips, “Yes.”

“ _Excellent!_ ” He slid the atrocious piece of costume jewelry on Hermione’s finger. “Be sure to wear this during our date tomorrow.”

She regretted everything.


	2. The Outfit

Hermione stood before her closet, clad in a fluffy pink robe with a slightly damp towel wrapped around her freshly-showered head as she evaluated her wardrobe choices. What did one wear on a fake date with a bloke one despised?

Camouflage, perhaps? A nice dagger holster? A poison ring?

“ _GRAAAAAAN-GERRRR!_ ” A male sing-songy voice penetrated the quiet of her home.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she muttered.

Approximately ten seconds later, a chipper Malfoy wearing an expensive gray suit popped his head into her room. “Are you naked?”

Hermione instinctively pulled the edges of her robe closer together. “Would it matter if I was?”

“Not a bit.” He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized her appearance. “O-kaaay. So… _that’s_ what you look like when you’re off the clock.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “It truly baffles me that you are still single.”

“Oh, _zip it_ , Malfoy. I just got out of the shower.”

He snapped his fingers in disappointment. “Damn, I missed it. I knew I should have left two minutes earlier.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Two minutes ago? You’re already _twenty goddamned minutes early_. It’s bloody rude.”

He patted her towel-clad head. “Worst date ever, Granger. Don’t expect me to act like a gentleman tonight.”

“Charming.”

“Now. I feel compelled to tell you that you look like Baby Umbridge in that ridiculous outfit—”

“ _I was in the middle of getting ready, you arsehole!_ ”

“—So, you’ll be happy to know that because you are totally incapable of dressing yourself, I brought you something.” He held up a garment bag.

She groaned. “Please don’t tell me you get to pick my outfit.”

“I get to pick your outfit.” He thrust the garment bag into her hands. “I’ll just wait outside while you put it on.” He craned his head slowly towards her. “Unless you need some assistance. Zippers can be _awfully_ tricky.”

“Get the fuck out of my room, Malfoy.”

He raised his hands in faux surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m going. Keep your knickers on. Or don’t if you’d like to make this awful date a lot more interest—”

She slammed the door in his face.

The fucker.

Hermione sheepishly opened the garment bag Draco had brought, hoping against hope that he had not selected anything too dowdy or, in the alternative, too slutty, but realizing such a wish was futile. A tasteful middle ground was not the theme of the evening. This was to be the worst date ever. Which meant that…

Oh, hells.

“Mother fucker,” Hermione murmured.

It was the shortest, smallest, shiniest, _greenest_ dress Hermione had ever seen. The material looked to be a cross between cheap velvet and a polyblend satin. Either way, it wasn’t cute. Merely holding it up to her body, she could tell that it wouldn’t fall even mid-thigh on her. And the neckline was a joke. Was it a “U”? Was it a drunken “V”? It appeared to have no structural integrity whatsoever. She doubted she owned a bra she could wear with it, as the dress was unlikely to cover any of them completely.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Granger. I want to see.”

“Go away, Malfoy. I’m still getting dressed. And fuck you, by the way for making me wear this. I have tea towels that would cover more of my body than this.”

A pause.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“ _Uhhhh_. Hang _on._ ” Hermione grumbled as she wiggled into the dress and examined her appearance.

Whoa.

If Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin Mattress, had been an _actual_ streetwalker then _she_ would have been embarrassed to wear this dress.

“How does it look?” he asked from behind the door.

She ran her hands over her stomach as she looked at herself from several angles. Was her arse always so perky? Maybe she should buy some better fitting pencil skirts.

“ _Granger!_ ”

“ _Alright_ , you slimy little rat,” she said as she raised her wand to the door, allowing it to swing open.

Draco’s jaw hit the floor. “Whoa.”

“Yup.”

“Granger, you look…”

“I look like a common prostitute.”

“…I was going to say you look sensational.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I mean, you _do_ look like a prostitute. And a _cheap_ one at that. But who knew you were so goddamned sexy underneath those frumpy bags you call skirts.”

Her face fell. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his eyes trailing up her body. “Are those _tits_ , Granger? Sweet Jesus, you’ve really _got_ them, don’t you? They’re bigger than I thought they’d be.”

“Are you done?”

“I mean, I had a feeling you were hiding _something_. But _this_? I should arrest you just for covering it all up. _Selfish_ , Granger.”

Making certain her two boniest knuckles were front and center, Hermione punched him in the arm.

“ _Owwww_ ,” he squealed. “That was uncalled for.”

Hermione disagreed. She was sure that the less-than-masculine squeal he emitted would be the highlight of this entire evening for her. “Well, you were being a creep, leering at me like that. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to respect women?”

He cradled his bruised arm. “My mother taught me to dance a perfect waltz, and to how to complain to a waiter about the wine selection in flawless French.”

Merlin. Even on a normal date, he’d still be a holy terror. “Are we going, or not?”

“Are you going to insist on acting like a rabid little hellion the whole evening, or can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Only if _you_ promise to stop objectifying me. Otherwise, I’ll put my bathrobe back, on and you can take me out like that.”

Draco chuckled. “Only you would find _that_ less embarrassing. I don’t see what you’re complaining about, Granger. You’ve definitely got the goods for that dress.”

“So, bathrobe it is, then?”

“No, no, no. My evening. My rules. The dress stays.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let me just see if I have any shoes that will go with it.” She walked over to her closet and rifled through her shoe selection.

She felt him before she heard him. An arm darted out past her head and seized a six-inch strappy black heel. “Wear these.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“They’re _your_ shoes, Granger.”

“I wore them _once_ at a fancy-dress party, and I couldn’t even make it half the night before I transfigured them into flats.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? They go with the dress.”

“That is to say that they add to the whole ‘cheap hooker’ thing.”

“Again. _Your_ shoes.”

She signed. “Malfoy, I understand the whole point of this evening is to humiliate me, but this is actual _physical torture_.”

He bit his lip, his eyes moving from the lethal stiletto in his hand to her dainty feet. “I’ll tell you what, Granger. If you wear them, I’ll put a charm on your feet. That way, we both win. You’ll feel like you’re wearing house slippers the entire evening, but your legs will go on for miles, and your arse will positively devastate.”

She narrowed his eyes at him. “When this is all over, you will pay.”

He grinned, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. “It’s the worst date ever, Granger. I thought we’d at least go Dutch.”


	3. The Meal

“Don’t touch me,” Hermione spat as the two of them walked side-by-side down the street.

Malfoy made no attempts to remove his arm from around her shoulders. “My rules, doll.”

Hermione’s jaw tightened. “Well, could you _at least_ not call me ‘doll?’”

“Why? Do you not like it?”

“I hate it. I hate all sexist pet names, but especially that one. I’m no man’s toy, Malfoy.”

“Excellent. This date is already a success. We’re not even to the restaurant, and you’re already going off on feminist rants. Now,” he said, tightening his grip on her shoulders, “remember what I want you to call me tonight.”

She really would rather die. With suppressed bloodlust simmering in her veins, she whispered, “Studmuffin.”

“Mmm.” He slid his arm down to her waist and squeezed. “I’m definitely going to have to put this entire evening into a Pensieve for myself.”

“You’re a stone-cold atrocity,” she said evenly.

He looked at her expectantly. “I’m a stone-cold atrocity…what?”

She took a deep breath. “You’re a stone-cold atrocity…studmuffin.”

The smug look on his face would have looked a lot better smacked off of him. “I’ve got an excellent evening planned for us, Granger.”

“I’m going to stop you right there. I feel I need to be clear about something.” It probably wasn’t necessary for her to even mention, but she needed to clear the air. “This is not…I mean…you and I aren’t actually…” She cleared her throat and squeezed her eyes shut, pushing it all out in one breath, “ _I’m-not-going-to-have-sex-with-you-Malfoy_.”

His face went from giddy to alarmed the moment she breathed her unexpected declaration. “Whoa, whoa. Look, Granger, I know I kid around a lot, but you have to know that I would _never_ ask you to—”

“I didn’t exactly think you would. But…I just wanted to be clear. The worst date ever does not include you taking me home and us having the worst _sex_ ever to consummate this event.”

He scoffed. “Shows how little you know me. Any sex you would ever have with me—in a totally consensual, non-bet-losing way—would be the _best_ ever. I _slay arse_ , okay? You should be so lucky.”

Her eyes hardened. “Not even if it would cure cancer, Malfoy.”

He looked genuinely annoyed now. “Yeah, yeah. I get it, Granger. You don’t want to fuck me. And you’re in luck. Because It just so happens that _I_ am not interested in fucking you either.”

She snorted. “You mean you’ve been hitting on me nonstop all evening because you _don’t_ want to sleep with me?”

He scoffed. “Please. I’ve been half-arsing it. When I come onto you for real, you’ll know it.”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

He shrugged. “Believe what you want, Granger. But I am not in the least bit attracted to you.”

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it. She certainly didn’t like the guy, nor did she want to encourage his (supposedly) half-arsed sexual advances, but she needed to prove a point. Which was why she found herself leaning into him, making certain that he could see down her dress. “Oh no? Not even a little.”

He was doing a damn fine job of keeping a straight face. A normal person would probably think he wasn’t interested. But Hermione Granger wasn’t a normal person. She was an Auror, trained in the art of observation.

His pupils dilated ever-so-slightly, signaling the presence of an arousing stimulus. His nostrils flared, indicating that he was subconsciously collecting some sort of olfactory data—an evolutionary trait humans hadn’t quite kicked yet. His Adam’s apple bobbed a fraction in his throat, suggesting that something was causing a surplus of saliva to collect in his mouth.

He shrugged. “Nice try, Granger, but my penis doesn’t even register that you’re a female presence.”

_What a fucking liar._

She leaned into him a bit more, making certain that her breasts were rubbing against his side. “I don’t believe you.”

He swallowed again, audibly this time. “Don’t play with me, Granger. Just because I said you’ve got a nice body doesn’t mean I want to do dirty things to it.”

She almost stumbled in her Beyonce heels. There was something about the way he casually dropped the words, “dirty things,” that took her back a bit. Maybe it was the snappy drawl he always used when someone backed him into a corner. It was a trait that dated back to their Hogwarts days, and it was never, _ever_ something Hermione considered attractive. But when he used it to suggest that “dirty things” might done to her, by him nonetheless…

She had never considered it before. He had always been too annoying and condescending for her to remotely entertain the idea. But she supposed…from a purely theoretical viewpoint…that Malfoy could objectively be considered attractive.

He leered at her chest. “Although, I _do_ appreciate that you decided to go sans bra tonight, doll. If you dressed like this more often, maybe a shit date with me wouldn’t be the highlight of your social life.”

Then again, _ew_. She shouldn’t even go there. He was too blond, too pale, too pointy, and too Malfoy. He probably was one of those guys who pumped over a woman for three minutes before collapsing on top of her and asking if she “got there” before passing out. It didn’t matter that he was essentially a visual feast in his suit and that he smelled like he looked—like a man with a sharp jawline who was born on a bed of money.

Suddenly she was too close.

This evening was destined to be a crap shoot, and it was best just to grin and bear it. “What’s first on our agenda, Malfoy?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner.” Okay. That didn’t sound so bad.

“At Wetherspoon’s.”

She grimaced. “ _Wetherspoons?_ ”

“Now, don’t be a snob, Granger. You wouldn’t want to give the impression you were ungrateful.”

“That’s rich. I have actually heard you refer to fish and chips as ‘poor people food.’ What possible reason could you have for taking me to Wetherspoons?”

“I’ve heard they have excellent cocktail pitchers. But most importantly, they have the lowest Yelp rating of any pub or restaurant in South London.”

“You do realize that _you_ will also hate it. Possibly even more than I will.”

He put a hand on his chest. “As long as you’re miserable, Granger, I will give it five stars.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I hope you like soggy chips and spotty silverware, you little…what is that?”

“ _It’s beginning to look a lot like Chriiistmaaas. Eeeeverywheeere you goooo._ ”

Hermione raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Is that…?”

The sound was getting louder.

“ _Take a look at the five and ten. It’s glistening once again._ ”

She released a small laugh. “Someone needs to tell those kids that it’s April.”

Malfoy looked positively evil in that moment, which is what tipped Hermione off that he had something to do with whatever the hell was going on. “I believe they’re already aware of that fact,” he said.

“ _But the prettiest sight to see…_ ”

It was getting louder.

“ _Is the HOLLY THAT WILL BEEEEE…_ ”

Hermione’s eyes widened as the children’s choir approached her and Malfoy. “Oh, hell no.”

“ _ON YOUR OOOOOWN FROOONT DOOOOOR!!!!!_ ”

Malfoy's eyes twinkled. “Fantastic, aren’t they?”

“Malfoy, why the bloody hell is there a children’s choir crashing our date?”

He instantly straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Did you know that various studies have been performed to discover what type of music is most universally abhorred by adults in the United Kingdom?”

“Fascinating,” Hermione drawled.

“Indeed. And _apparently_ , the overwhelming winner is Christmas carols performed by children’s choirs.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t say.”

“I do, Granger. I do.”

“Don’t these kids have a bedtime? They can’t possibly follow us around _all_ evening, can they?”

“You’re forgetting something vital, Granger. I’m bloody, _stinking_ rich. I have handsomely compensated these children in the form of generous donations to their university funds. Their parents were so delighted; they completely ignored the fact that a strange man asked to purchase their children’s services for the evening.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I will never understand Muggles. Don’t they watch Dateline?”

“ _GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEEEEER. WALKING HOME FROM OUR HOUSE CHRISTMAS EEEEEVE_.”

Hermione growled. It was going to be a long evening.

 

*

  
Dinner was awful.

Malfoy rented a room in the back, thereby ensuring that the children’s choir would be adequately accommodated. Hermione was treated to a headache-inducing serenade all throughout her dry, bland shepherd’s pie.

When she tried to order a cocktail pitcher to make the meal more tolerable, Malfoy pulled the waitress by the hand and whispered in her ear, loud enough for Hermione to hear, “Would you please be a love and make it a virgin cocktail? She’s a recovering alcoholic, and I promised I would be there for her should the urge to drink become too overwhelming. It’s why I hired the children’s choir. It helps her remember a simpler time when alcohol didn’t run her life.”

The waitress put a hand to her heart and declared that Malfoy was, in her opinion, the sweetest man in the history of the world. So, of course, Hermione not only was denied the deliverance of alcohol but was also forced to endure the humiliation of being a perceived alcoholic. Plus, the waitress— _Melanie_ , as she insisted Malfoy call her—continued to be overly friendly to him through the duration of the meal, and he, in true Malfoy fashion, encouraged her attention by flirting outrageously with her and ignoring Hermione completely.

It was humiliating.

Granted, Hermione _was not_ jealous. She and Malfoy were barely even cordial co-workers, much less anything resembling something that would give her the right to be jealous. It was merely the principle of the thing that bothered her. Common decency dictated that it was, quite simply, rude to flirt with other women in front of one’s date. Even if it was a fake date.

And as for Melanie…

Hermione didn’t feel at all contrite when she threw a mild Stinging Hex her way when she put her hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, rubbing slutty little circles down his arm.

“ _Ouch!_ ”

“Something wrong, doll?” Malfoy asked.

“No, um…I...” Melanie held herself up when she caught Hermione’s cool glare. “I should get your check.”

“ _Checks!_ ” Malfoy said, correcting her. “We’re splitting the bill.”

“Rrright,” Melanie said as she swished away, rubbing her bum and mumbling under her breath. Hermione allowed herself the luxury of a private smirk as she watched the rude young woman walk away. Maybe that would teach her some manners the next time she waited on an _actual_ couple. No wonder this place had such a low Yelp rating.

“Bit immature, don’t you think, Granger?” Draco asked with an all-knowing smirk plastered across his infuriating, pretty man-face.

“ _IIIIIIII SAW MUMMY KISSING SAAAAAANTA CLAAAAAAUS._ ”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Right. Because nothing about this evening is in any way petty or childish.”

“You were jealous.”

“I was _bored._ You’ve been nothing but awful company the entire evening, not that I expected anything less. I had to entertain myself in _some_ way.”

He smirked. “I apologize. You’re quite right. Despite the fact that this date is supposed to be terrible, I really should do a better job to keep you engaged.”

She didn’t like the way he said that. “Dare I ask what you mean by that?”

“Are you finished with your pudding?”

“Am I finished with the cheesecake I couldn’t eat because I’m lactose intolerant? _Yes_. Yes, I am. Thank you ever so much for asking.”

“Excellent. I wouldn’t want us to be late.”

He seemed anxious to leave and chipper at the prospect of the next phase in the evening, so Hermione knew whatever was in store for her was sure to be a newly discovered flavor of Hell. She sighed. “What exactly are we doing next?”

“ _OH, WHAT A LAUGH IT WOULD HAVE BEEEEN, IF DADDY HAD ONLY SEEEEN MUMMY KISSING SANTA CLAAAAAAUS LAAAAAAAST NIIIIIIGHT!!!!_ ”

Malfoy clapped. Hermione glowered. “Excellent work, children. I’m afraid the lady, and I are going somewhere you’re all not allowed, so I’m sorry to say that we will need to bid you all farewell.”

“AWWWWW!”

“I know, I know. But you were delightful. The lady enjoyed it very much, didn’t you?” He nudged her side.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Yes. Thank you. It was…lovely.”

“You’ve made our evening so very special. Thank you. Now, say goodnight to the pretty lady.”

“GOODNIGHT, PRETTY LADY.”

Malfoy extended his arm. “Shall we, doll?”

She glared as she took it, raising her chin a few inches. Like hell, he would get to her. “Lead the way, studmuffin.”


	4. The Fight

“ _Choke him out! Choke him out!_ ”

Hermione’s eyes were dry from not having blinked in ages. The MMA fighters thrashed against one another, having finally brought the fight to the ground. Hermione was aware that there were many people who might envy hers and Malfoy’s front row seats, so they may better witness the collapse of civilization. The luxury was, however, lost on her. She was too scared to check, but she was pretty sure there was blood on her cleavage from one of the fighters.

Malfoy clapped as the Irish guy did indeed choke out the American. He leaned in to whisper. “So, what do you think of your first UFC fight?”

Hermione was shaken out of her daze. “I think…”

She looked around at the carnage and the celebration of brute force for its own sake. People were spilling warm Carlsberg all over each other and cheering at the sight of blood. Hermione couldn’t help but be reminded of ancient Rome. Hordes of the populace would gather at the heart of the city to watch gladiators bring honor to their countries by spilling the blood of foreign slaves upon the hallowed dust of Rome; saluting Death as a revered friend and entering the halls of Elysium with dignity.

“ _Oi_ , mate grab ‘im by ‘is balls! Get ‘im in ‘is baby maker!” A drunken old man in the row behind Hermione jumped up and spat at the ring. Dorito crumbs flew through the air and cascaded down Hermione’s dress.

She shook her head. “I think this place makes me feel racist against white people.”

“Yeah, it’s glorious, isn’t it? By the way, doll, you’ve got a bit of that American bloke’s nose blood on your tits.”

“Charming. Are we finished here?”

“Not by half, doll. This is just the first fight. There are eleven more fights to go.”

“ _Eleven?_ ” She shook her head, her eyes glazing over as a woman with bright purple hair wearing a silver bikini walked around the ring holding a sign announcing the next fight.

She didn’t understand. Why would Malfoy put her through all of this when it clearly wasn’t to his taste any more than hers? Did he really hate her so much that he derived so much pleasure from her humiliation? “Haven’t you had enough?” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, what was that, doll?”

She turned fully in her seat to face him. She saw a small glimmer of contrition appear in his face as he witnessed the defeat in her eyes. “Why are you doing this? You hate all of this just as much as I do. Why would you go through so much trouble just to see me humiliated? What’s even the _point_?”

His treacherous Adam’s apple bobbed again in his throat, and he licked his lips. “I mean…the bet, right? You know it was all in good fun. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Why do you hate me?”

His eyes widened in their sockets. He released a puff of incredulity as he looked her in the eyes, searching for evidence that she was serious. “I _don’t_ hate you, Granger. Why would you think that I do?”

She shrugged. “You only ever speak to me to patronize me or embarrass me. You’re twenty-five years old, and yet you still act like the same rat-faced eleven-year-old git you used to be. The only difference is that you don’t call me ‘Mudblood’ anymore.”

He licked his lips. “I don’t…I don’t know. I thought the bet would be a laugh. You always look so serious, and I thought…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide the pink tinge on his cheeks by turning his head from her. “Look, Granger. I can take you home. We can call off the rest of the night. I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. I thought…” He laughed darkly. “Looking back, I realize I was stupid to think that you’d find any of this funny.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of _course_  I think it’s funny, you idiot. If you had done this to literally _anyone else_ , I would have paid good money to have seen it.”

He smirked slightly at her remark. “So, you’re saying I should have sold tickets.”

She smacked him lightly on the arm, smirking in spite of herself. “Perhaps you can tuck that idea away for the next time you do this to someone else. Maybe give me a discount as reparations for my present misery.”

He laughed. “Oh, Granger. I could never do this to someone else. And ruin what we have?” He put a hand on his heart, mockingly. “That would cheapen it.”

“I don’t know. I’ll bet you could rope Melanie into replicating it with you.”

“Who’s Melanie?”

Hermione turned to look him in the eye. She was surprised to find that he seemed to be serious. “Our waitress. From Wetherspoons. You spent the whole time flirting with her. Remember?”

He smirked. “I remember you were jealous.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I _was not jealous_ , Malfoy. I just couldn’t believe that you would be quite that rude. It was a new level. Even for you.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I only did it to rile you up.”

She sniggered, relaxing in her seat as she watched some Russian guy kick another Russian guy in the face. “I guess I can’t really fault you for it. It’s sort of the shtick tonight, right? Worst date ever? At least you realize that it was rude. There are plenty of men who would do it without having a clue how it would make their date feel.”

He leaned in closer. “In case I forget to tell you later, you’ve been a real sport about the whole thing.”

She snorted. “I’ve fought you every step of the way, Malfoy. You’ve practically dragged me kicking and screaming all evening.”

He bit his lip. “Yeah, but you’ve still done it. You didn’t have to, you know.”

She shrugged. “A bet’s a bet. You won fair and square.”

He waved his hand from side to side. “I thought we had established that it wasn’t exactly square.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m still furious with you for using _Felix_ , but technically you’re right. We never said you couldn’t. And you were basically finished with those cases, anyway.” She inhaled, steadying herself for the next part. “You’re a good detective, Malfoy.”

He tore his eyes away from the fight and turned his head to her. She was stubbornly refusing to look at him, choosing instead to watch one of the fighters body slam the other. She was doing a very good impersonation of a person who was genuinely interested in the sport. He smirked. “You think I’m a good detective.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, still not taking her eyes off the fight. “Look, let’s not make a big thing of it.”

“Of course not,” he said turning his attention back to the fight. “You know…there’s a possibility that I may have gone overboard with this date.”

She blinked. “Overboard?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should probably cancel the Nickelback concert and the Portkey to Washington D.C.”

Her head zapped in his direction. “ _Washington mother-fucking D.C._? What was that for?”

“A lecture by Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, Paul Ryan called “How to Use Ayn Rand Quotes to Win Arguments.’ But I’m fairly certain I can get my deposit back on that one.”

She facepalmed herself. “For the love of Godric, Malfoy. At the risk of being gauche, exactly how much did this date cost you?”

He hummed in contemplation with a faraway look in his eye. “I’d say roughly half of my annual salary.”

Hermione’s heart moved a fraction of an inch in her chest in shock; mostly at the casual way, Malfoy dropped that number, as if the amount was merely rusty Knuts in his pocket or spare change that he discovered underneath his couch cushions. It was easy to forget that Malfoy was loaded, but every so often he slipped and reminded her in a terribly alarming way.

A small part of Hermione—a _very_ small part—was almost flattered because no man had ever spent anywhere close to that amount on her. Even if she added up every date and gift she had ever received from a male, it wouldn’t scratch the surface of what Malfoy dropped for this date. But given the circumstances, it was hardly romantic. “I figuratively have no words to describe how disturbing that is, Malfoy.”

“Are you hungry?”

She gaped at him; amazed at his ability to so abruptly, yet seamlessly change the subject. “We already ate.”

“You barely touched your food. And truth be told, neither did I. I know a place that’s open late. You’ve at least earned a decent dinner. Let me buy you one as a token of my appreciation.”

She chuckled. “I guess I could eat.”

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The two stood from their seats in the front row and walked toward the exit. Hermione’s eyes crossed when she felt his hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward.

Had she had possessed the courage to look at him, she would have seen that he was blushing.

 

*

 

“Oh my god. Malfoy, this is _amazing_.” She practically purred as she bit into the heavenly falafel. The buttery crunch of fresh cucumbers combined perfectly with the moist, subtle crispiness of the falafel and the tangiest tzatziki she had ever tasted.

Draco preened into his own wrap. “I know. I found this place years ago back when I was still in my foolish drinky stage with Blaise and Theo.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t stomach nights out anymore. Clubs are boring. Pubs are disappointing. People are loud. I’d rather just drink at home.”

He chuckled. “I’m the same way. At least then I can go to bed when I want.”

She nearly choked on a tomato, nodding her head in agreement. “I’m the _same way_. Give me a bottle of wine and a good book, and I’m happy. But ask me to put on a pair of trousers, and I’m out.”

He laughed. “Well, in that case, I apologize for taking you away from the comforts of your home and forcing you to put on proper clothes.”

She snorted. “You’d call _this_ proper? All evening people have assumed that you paid for my company.”

He grinned. “You do look hot in that dress.”

“Shut up.” It lacked the bite her usual ‘shut ups’ possessed. Maybe it was because he had a tiny bit of hummus on the corner of his mouth. It was endearing. “You’ve got a little…” she motioned at his mouth.

He rubbed the wrong side. “Did I get it?”

“No. Let me just…” Without even thinking, she wiped it away for him.

Draco was too startled to react as her fingers brushed the corner of his lips in a light, fleeting, but confident movement. Afterward, he smiled, particularly pleased by her ostensible fascination with an imaginary spot on the table between them.

 

*

 

For the second time that evening, he put his hand on the small of her back, directing her out of the falafel restaurant. It felt nice, having his hand there.

“Thank you for this. You didn’t have to buy me dinner for real.”

He grinned, knocking shoulders with her. “Come on, Granger. I couldn’t let you starve to death.”

She chuckled. “You know, you’re not half bad when you’re not calling me ‘doll’ or leering at my breasts.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Sexist Draco, bad. Falafel Draco, good.”

She giggled.

As the pair walked down the pavement, they caught the attention of a group of three men sitting outside smoking cigarettes. “ _Oi_ , lovely! How’d you like to have a seat right here on my cock, eh?” The other two sniggered at the crude comment.

Hermione’s face heated, but she continued to walk forward. Refusing to engage was her typical tactic when dealing with guys like this.

Draco, on the other hand, took a different approach. He turned and faced them, his eyes burning, and his jaw set so hard, his teeth were creaking. “What did you say to her?”

She touched his arm and lightly tugged. “Draco…”

The tallest of the three flicked the butt of his fag into the street and strolled over to Draco. He looked like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in years. “Wha’s that, pretty boy? You got a problem wif me?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a fucking problem. You don’t talk to her like that.”

The other two men approached Draco and the tall bloke with the poor oral hygiene. “You ‘ear that, lads? ‘e’s got a problem wif us talking to ‘is bird.” He cracked his knuckles. “I meant no harm, mate. It’s just that she looks like she sucks a _mean_ cock, yeah?”

Draco shoved him. He shoved back. And before Hermione knew what was happening, the two were on the ground, scuffling.

She rolled her eyes. Men and their bloody fighting. She pulled out her wand and flicked it towards the other two men who were rounding on the fight. “ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” she said dully. They froze. She then turned her attention on the man Draco had pinned to the ground, punching in the face, and repeated the spell.

Draco froze at the statue of the man beneath him. He looked up at Hermione who was currently sending her Patronus to the Ministry for the Obliviators to come and tend to the Muggles’ memories. “Why did you do that?”

“ _Me_? Why the fuck did _you_ do _that_?”

He scowled, blood oozing from one of his nostrils. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear how he spoke to you?”

“I don’t need you to defend my honor.”

“I _never_ said you did. Excuse me if it just didn’t sit well listening to this _prick_ talk to the smartest fucking person I know like she was a whore.”

Hermione’s eyes softened. “I appreciate that, Draco. I do. But if you picked a fight with every man who catcalled a woman you knew, you’d be a very busy man. Let me see your nose.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s broken. Come on. It wouldn’t be the first time this evening I got someone else’s blood on me.”

He shook his head. “I just…I didn’t like hearing him say those things to you.”

She bit her lip, unable to look him in the eye. “It wouldn’t be the first time. _Episkey_.”

“ _Ow. Mother_ fucker!”

“Better?” She held his head in her hands, searching for signs of a concussion in his eyes.

Catching his breath, he nodded. Her big, doe eyes were full of concern and ferocity. It was a look that was so profoundly _Granger_ that he couldn’t help but feel moved to see it directed at him for once. At this proximity, he could count every freckle across her nose if he fancied. The contrast between the golden flecks against her pale skin was quite striking. He’d never much noticed Granger’s freckles before, but he decided right then and there that he liked them. They humanized her; softening the natural intensity she normally exuded. He swallowed deeply. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched, and she removed her hands from the sides of his head. She wasn’t entirely sure he meant to say that. Even he looked taken aback by it. “Thank you.”

He exhaled deeply. “Look, I know I haven’t exactly been a saint to you.”

“Draco, please don’t do this—”

“Just let me say this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know I take the piss out of you a lot, and that I’m kind of a misogynist—which I’m working on by the way—but the truth is…I…respect you. A lot. I wasn’t kidding when I said that you’re the smartest person I know.”

Her eyes widened. “I…um. Thank you.” This had certainly shaped up to be an odd evening. She had known Malfoy for fourteen years and not once in that entire time had he ever paid her a compliment. Tonight, he had paid her several. And she was certain they had been sincere—mostly because she had never seen sincerity on his face until this evening, and it contrasted greatly with his usual sarcastic wit. She _Scourgified_ the blood from his face. “Um…listen, I should wait for the _Obliviators_ , but—”

His shoulders sagged. “I’ll see you at work, then.”

“Oh, um…yeah. At work.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Unless you want me to wait with you?”

“No. That’s not necessary.”

“I’ll wait.”

“No, Draco. You _really_ don’t have to—”

“I know that you’re more than capable of waiting on your own, but this is kind of my mess. So…you know.”

She sighed. “Draco. Thank you for the falafel and for standing up to those guys for me. But you should really go home. You’re hurt, and you need to rest.” Not to mention the poor man was obviously embarrassed as hell, but Hermione didn’t feel the need to point that out. It was a kindness, sending him away.

“Are you sure?”

She could tell that he was just as uncomfortable as she was with the newfound civility they had found within the last couple of hours and the odd, emotional turn that it had taken in the past several minutes. “Go home, Draco.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you at work.”

“At work.”

He _Disapparated_ , leaving her staring at the spot he had previously occupied.

Hermione sighed. “I am in so much goddamned trouble.”


	5. The Date

The following Monday, Hermione alternated between banging her head on her desk and refreshing the Silencing and Locking Charm she cast on her door. Its purpose was dual: one, the faint residue of its magical presence signaled to would-be visitors that they should walk away, and two, nobody could hear her curse.

And curse, she did.

The reason? At some point during the remainder of the weekend following her disastrous date with Malfoy, she had come to the unfortunate conclusion that she, inexplicably, had a crush on him. A big one.

It made no sense. She had gone over the variables repeatedly and had examined it from every angle. She made a pro/con list that was easily one of the top three best pro/con lists she had made in her lifetime. When that brought her no clarity, she had even made a pie chart representing the makeup of his attributes that made her inner feminist hurl at the knowledge that she still somehow liked this guy. Despite all of this, she still didn’t have a satisfactory answer as to why she suddenly fancied the git after he had successfully taken her on the worst date of her life and generally made her existence a living Hell.

She felt gross and foreign in her own skin. She wasn’t certain how to be this person. Who was she really now? What other new surprises could Fate throw her way? Did she actually enjoy UFC fights? Perhaps Paul Ryan had some good ideas after all. Who even fucking knew anymore?

_Knock, knock, knock._

Whoever it was would sense the Charm and go away.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“ _Granger? Are you in there?_ ”

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit! She should have known that her little trick would only work on people with normal social skills. It was no match for Draco’s preternatural levels of entitlement.

And she definitely wasn’t ready to see him yet. She had only just transitioned from the denial stage of her crush to the part where she wanted to murder several boxes of Honeydukes chocolates. Seeing Draco wasn’t supposed to happen for another several phases—somewhere between drunken Floo calls and intermittent office-stalking.

“Uh…” She began rifling through several papers of rubbish-bin-level importance to make it seem as though she truly was busy. “Just a second!” She lifted the Charm. “Um…you can come in now.”

The door opened, and Hermione stifled a groan as he walked in. His hair resembled Leo circa Titanic, and he looked to be sewn into his trousers. How did she never notice before that he was really, _really_ fucking gorgeous? Again, it made no sense. She had certainly seen him wear those exact same clothes and comb his hair in that precise way dozens of times before. And out of nowhere, today he looked like the last slab of sugar on Earth. She licked her lips. “Hi.”

He swallowed. “Hi.”

She shifted in her seat. “Um…do you want to sit down or something?”

“Sure.” He sat, biting his lip and staring at a spot on her desk. “So, did you get home alright the other night?”

“Yup.” She fidgeted with her quill. “Just dandy, thank you.”

He nodded. “Good. Good. Um…” He coughed into his hand. “So, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For everything. The dress, the pet names, the fight. Everything.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Draco, that’s nice of you, but you really don’t need to—”

“Please.” His eyes met hers for the first time since he’d sat down. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to say. “I liked it, okay.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You liked what?”

Not even trying to mask his annoyance, he rubbed his hands on his face. “I liked the date. And not just because I got to rub winning the bet in your face.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say.

“Okay, maybe a little bit because I got to rub it in your face, but mostly I just liked…” And, exhale. “ _Spendingtimewithyou_.”

“Huh?”

“I BLOODY LIKE YOU, okay? There. Are you happy? I like you. I. Like. You. I have done for a while. It’s the whole reason I made that stupid bet with you in the first place. And even though you had a rotten time and you’ll probably never even want to speak to me again, I couldn’t let things just sit the way they were without you knowing.”

Hermione continued to blink at him, her eyes widening.

He scowled at her silence. “So _there_. I like you. You hate me. End of story. Now we can go back to being co-workers with a slightly unhealthy sense of competition and the occasional bout of unwelcome sexual tension.” He rose out of his seat to leave her office.

Hermione’s brain kicked in. “ _Notendofstory_!”

He turned around. “Huh?”

She cleared her throat. “I said…it’s not the end of the story.”

He blinked. “I’m going to need you to elaborate, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. Even if he was fit, and possibly even kind of sweet, he was still an annoying little plonker. “If you think you can just waltz into my office, tell me you fancy me, and then walk off like we were discussing the fucking weather, then you obviously don’t know me at all.”

He rolled his eyes. “You want to drag this out? As if this wasn’t emasculating enough for me.”

“While I note that you have a habit of bolting when you’re embarrassed about your feelings, I think I’m owed an explanation.”

The tips of his ears pinkened adorably and Hermione couldn’t help but smirk. So, she _wasn’t_ imagining that about him.

“What do you want to know?”

She scoffed as if the answer should be obvious. “Well, for starters, why are you so bloody awful to me if you fancy me?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly awful to you, Granger. I may joke around with you a lot, but it’s not my fault if you’re impervious to humor.”

Tap, tap, tap went her quill on her desk. “But you’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious, and you’re missing the point. Wouldn’t you say that due to my debatably arseholish behavior—”

“There’s no debate. You’re a twat.”

“— _debatably arseholish behavior_ , you direct more of your attention towards me?”

She chewed on her lip. “Possibly. But, still. If you fancied me, you could have…oh, I don’t know…flirted like a _normal_ person. Complimented my outfit, brought me a coffee in the morning, ask me about my interests.”

“Impossible. Your clothes are atrocious. You’d suspect me of poisoning you. And every time I try to chat you up, we end up arguing.”

She rubbed her temples. “ _Fine_ , but you told me the other night that when you came onto me for real, I’d know. I’m calling bullshit. How the ever-loving fuck was I supposed to know how you felt about me when you flirt like an animal?”

He pinched the top of his nose, squinting his eyes. He could feel a migraine coming on. “I wasn’t coming onto you, Granger. I was simply trying to hold your attention. And to be perfectly honest, it’s not like I had some grand scheme to woo you or anything. It was more of a half-formed understanding that you were someone of interest to me. I didn’t fully realize the nature of this…little… _thing_ I had about you until the other night. And I stand by my statement. When I come onto you for real, you’ll know.”

She blinked at him. “Well…alright, then. Carry on.” She turned her attention back to the fake documents on her desk.

He rolled his eyes. “Granger, what are you doing?”

“I’m dismissing you so I can get some work done.”

“I’m not a fucking house elf, Granger. You can’t ‘dismiss’ me.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “A _fucking house elf_? Read the room, you little—”

“ _You like me too_. I’m not leaving until I hear you say it.”

She really should have stayed home and pigged out on chocolates today. “ _Uggghh_. Why do I like you again?”

Infuriating self-satisfaction saturated his face. “So, you _do_ like me?”

“You don’t have to look so smug about it. I’m not even sure that I actually do,” she lied. “But you’re… _different_ than I thought you’d be.”

He nodded. “Sooo…what exactly does this mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we…? I think we should…you know. Kiss. Or something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Or something?”

Remembering the feel of her knuckles bruising his flesh, he quickly amended his statement. “Kiss, yes. Definitely going with kiss.”

She bit her lip, wanting to take him up on his offer more than anything in the world, but not wanting to appear too eager. Her head moved in a series of staccato nods. “Yes. Good. Alright.” She hoped it sounded nonchalant, but her blood was boiling. She stood out of her seat and walked towards him, all the while thinking that she really should have made him come to her, purely as a power play.

He walked a few steps until he met her, looking oddly nervous. Somehow he looked younger without his usual sneer. She liked it.

The two of them licked their lips and leaned in. Unfortunately, they each tilted their heads in the same direction, knocking into each other.

“ _Bloody hell_ , Granger. Hold still.”

“ _You_ hold still, Malfoy.”

“ _Ugh_ , you are such a pain in the arse.” Without another thought, he grabbed her head and kissed her firmly on the lips.

Each of them softened at the impact. Within seconds, they were sighing into each other’s mouths, goosebumps erupting over their bodies.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Hermione couldn’t think. Her whole world dissolved down to one kiss. Soft lips against lips. His hands on her waist, too shy to move them up or down, but still they seemed to set her whole body on fire. He tasted like sweet coffee and something else. Something male and personal; something she instantly knew she would crave again and again. When they finally tore their mouths away from one another, they opened their eyes to find that the barriers each of them normally built had been torn down, leaving them completely vulnerable.

Draco smiled with a gentleness and a warmth she had no idea he possessed. He traced one hand up her neck to her chin and cupped her jaw. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, sending chills down to her toes. The gentleness of his touch, the disarming way he was looking at her; she had never felt so examined. His eyes were open, and she could see that in that moment, to him, she was something fine and rare. She’d never felt that way before. She’d never been so obviously adored by another person. Suddenly it hit her that this is what he meant when he said when he came onto her, she’d know.

“Will you go out with me for real?”

Her heart beat wildly in her chest. “Yes.”

He smiled. “Good.” His thumb grazed her bottom lip. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes,” she breathed huskily.

“Can we shag on your couch?”

She narrowed her eyes dangerously. “Don’t push it.”

He smiled as he leaned in for another kiss. “Bitch.”

 

_The End_


End file.
